Levkas Man (27 page)

I then asked him whether it was true that his examination of the site had been due to information given him by Dr Van der Voort. He replied, ‘No, sir. The information which led us to this particular site came from another source entirely—a Greek source.'

I was reluctant to call him a liar in public, but I have requested that the Committee meet briefly before tomorrow's session when I will lay your information before them.

May 26.

The Organizing Committee were greatly disturbed by the contents of your letter, which I read out to them at the meeting this morning. They felt that Holroyd's discovery, and the conclusions he had drawn from them, were of such vital significance that the questions raised in your letter must be investigated before Congress could publicly credit Holroyd with the discovery by publishing his paper in the form in which it was read. I could not of course substantiate the claims you made on Van der Voort's behalf, but inevitably a parallel was drawn with the case of Marais, also a South African. Moreover, as Grauers pointed out, the suggestion that Van der Voort was involved made it doubly important that Congress ascertain with absolute certainty that the skulls are what they purport to be before giving this discovery the stamp of their approval by publication of the paper.

In the end, it was decided to set up an investigating committee to look into the whole question and to report back as soon as possible. Grauers was appointed chairman and he has already requested Holroyd to submit all his evidence for examination. If I know Grauers, you can rest assured that he will be most Swedishly thorough, and also impartial. Naturally, he requires your personal attendance before the Committee. Can you fly back at once? It is very urgent, since Holroyd's reputation is at stake and Grauers insists that he be given the opportunity of cross-examining you on the information and charges made in your letter. We are trying to keep this ‘within the family' at this stage, so please do not discuss it with anyone until you have appeared before the committee.

I am sorry to break your holiday in this way, but I am sure you will appreciate the necessity.

Yours ever,

STEFAN

We saw Dr Gilmore off on an Olympic Airways flight that afternoon, and in the evening, the three of us alone in the saloon after an excellent meal ashore, I took the Barretts into my confidence and explained to them what Borg's cable really meant. To my surprise, Florrie accepted it as though smuggling were an everyday occurrence. Perhaps that was her Cypriot blood. It was Bert who was shocked. ‘What did you expect, for heaven's sake?' she said. ‘New engines and early-in-the-season charters don't come without strings attached. I knew all along it was something like this.' The odd thing was that she seemed actually excited at the prospect. Bert, more practical, wanted to know what would happen if a Turkish gun-boat caught us at the moment of transfer.

Fortunately, no Turkish gun-boat appeared. The night of June 10 was dark and within half an hour of our arriving on station, outside the little cove to the south of the straits where St Paul had once landed, a small boat arrived alongside. There were twenty-three packages, all quite small, in plastic bags and heavily padded. The transfer took less than ten minutes. By dawn we were past Samos, heading west along the rocky coast of Ikaria under full sail, the wind strong from the south—a sirocco.

The simplicity of the whole operation left us slightly deflated. Bert seemed the least affected, though I noticed he chose this moment to strip down the water circulation pump, which was worn and showing loss of pressure. Florrie was nearer to my own mood—a need to recreate artificially the excitement that was suddenly lacking. We started drinking shortly after eleven and by lunch time we were neither of us very sober. It was hot in the wheelhouse even with both doors open and for the first time she was wearing a bikini, her olive-brown flesh plump and smooth. I was stripped to the waist and I felt the warmth of her body against mine as she peered over my shoulder at the chart. ‘How many miles to Pantelleria?'

‘Almost seven hundred by the open sea route. Less if we take the Corinth Canal.'

Her hand touched me, ran gently down my backbone, exploring. ‘And you want to go by the Canal?'

‘Yes.'

‘Bert thinks it's dangerous.' She giggled, excited by the thought of danger. ‘I could persuade him.' Her hand slipped over my buttocks to my thighs, and I looked at her. Her lips were parted, smiling, her eyes inviting. If I hadn't been full of liquor I'd have held myself in check. A boat is too small a place in which to fool around with another man's wife. ‘He's in the engine-room,' she said and her body was against mine, flesh to flesh, passion flaring. We were on automatic pilot, open sea ahead. What the hell! Her lips were soft and warm, the bikini a trifle. I took her on the floor of the wheelhouse with the black rock cliffs of the island where Icarus fell out of the sun trying his wings close to starboard, and Bert never knew.

And afterwards we were suddenly sober, strangely self-conscious of our nakedness. I didn't understand her, a nice husband like that and throwing herself at me like a whore. Dressed, we were like strangers—polite, almost formal, our bodies released from tension and the nerve vibration of excess energy.

‘We'll go through the Canal,' she said, adjusting her bra. I felt like a gigolo being offered payment.

That night a strange thing happened. I came on watch at midnight, relieving Florrie, and it was very quiet as we slipped along at about four knots under sail. The sky was clear, diamond-studded with stars, the horizon a sharp line through the glasses. A satellite was wheeling like a comet across the edge of Orion's belt. For almost half an hour I had the company of dolphins, a whole school of them snorting and sighing all around me. Up for'ard I could see their shapes quite plainly, picked out by phosphorescence as they played in the bow wave. And then they disappeared as suddenly and as unexpectedly as they had arrived. Shortly after that I picked up the steaming lights of a vessel, bearing 345° and headed almost straight for us. The time was 02.40 and within minutes there were four other vessels, all approaching us fast from different points of the compass. Their steaming lights showed they were not fishing boats, and never in my sea-going experience having found myself in a situation like this, I called Bert.

‘Destroyers,' he said. ‘It's happened to me before. Not in the Aegean. Between Pylos and Malta. Have you sighted the carrier yet?' And having assured me that it would come up over the horizon ‘like a bloody great gas flare' he turned over and went to sleep again.

It did just that about five minutes later, its topmast light coming up over the horizon on our port bow, a single red glow like an oil refinery flame. By then one of the destroyers was very close. A searchlight stabbed the night blindingly. It remained fixed on us for almost ten minutes and then was suddenly extinguished. When my eyes became accustomed to the darkness again, the carrier had crossed our bows and was to the north-west of us, not more than a mile away and looking like the slab-sided section of a sea wall.

‘The Sixth Fleet,' Bert explained when he relieved me forty minutes later. And he added, ‘Heading up for the Dardanelles like that, I'm surprised they let you inside the destroyer screen.' He was searching the horizon with the glasses. ‘I'm glad we're getting out of this area.' He had a thoughtful look on his face as he put the glasses down. ‘I wouldn't like to be here if the Americans and the Russians started a naval engagement. Times like this I can't help thinking we're all hell-bent on suicide, the whole effing human race.' He checked the wheel and the compass course, and then, just as I was going below, he said, ‘Don't tell Florrie. She worries about her family. They're still in Cyprus.'

Two days later we passed through the Corinth Canal, and in the late afternoon of June 15 we arrived back at Port Vathy in the island of Meganisi.

Four

MAN THE KILLER

1

We anchored off in 4 fathoms at the head of the inlet, the sun hidden by the western hills, and as we rowed ashore, the houses of Vathy glimmered honey-coloured in the evening light, their reflections mirrored in the still water. I could see Zavelas sitting at his usual place at the kaféneion and he beckoned to us. ‘Kalispéra. You are back, eh?' It was difficult to know whether he was pleased or not, his face impassive. ‘Good trip?'

‘Yes,' I said. And Florrie added, ‘The islands were beautiful.'

‘I see them when I'm a kid. In caiques then. Not since.' A flicker of a smile showed in his eyes. ‘Now it is cool and you like some cawfee, eh?' He waved aside Bert's mention of the Customs Officer. ‘I send for him and you do your business here. Is more comfortable after you have been at sea.' He called to a boy playing in one of the boats and then clapped his hands for the proprietor.

Coffee and ouzo, the usual routine, and the ex-cop watching us, silent. There was something on his mind and it made me uneasy. Florrie felt it, too, for she was talking quickly, nervously, in a mixture of English and Greek.

‘Why you come back?' Zavelas asked abruptly, the question directed at me.

Why had I come back? It was a question I had been asking myself. Curiosity, or was it something deeper, a premonition, some sixth sense warning me? Gilmore, when he had shown me Reitmayer's letter, had promised to let me know the result of the investigation. He knew the date we would be in Samos, but there had been no letter waiting for me at the Harbour Office there. ‘Are they continuing work on the dig behind Tiglia?' I asked.

‘Yes. But not Professor Holerod. He is in London. Only Mr Cartwright and the Dutch boy work there.'

‘And my father—is he still at Vatahori?'

He shook his head. ‘No. The Doctor is on Levkas. He has a small tent there and works alone.'

‘In that bay you showed me—Dessimo?'

‘No. It is somewhere else.'

‘Where?'

‘That's a secret between him and Cristos Pappadimas. But I can take you there if you want.' And he added, ‘An' I guess the Doctor will be glad to see you. He's no money, and that's mighty hard on a poor Greek man like Pappadimas. He takes him what he can, and Miss Winters helps.'

‘Is she still here?'

‘In my house.'

I hadn't expected that and the thought of her so near brought back into my mind the picture I had of her, small, intense and slightly lost … it had been there all the voyage, the last sight of her standing on the quay at Vathy, a solitary figure waving us goodbye. The Customs Officer arrived, and whilst he dealt with Bert's transit-log, I sat there, drinking my ouzo and wondering about myself and the complexity of my motives as I exchanged small talk with Zavelas.

It was just after the Customs officer left that a boat came in, passed close to
Coromandel
and then headed for the quay. I saw her head, pale tow against the dark-featured Greek at the out-board. She was searching the quay. I waved and she waved back, and then I was hurrying across to meet her. Florrie's eyes followed my movement; she knew how I felt—at least that's what she said afterwards, that she'd known all along I was in love with her. But I didn't know it myself then, only that the sight of her, so fresh-looking, so blonde and slim—alien corn amongst the Turk-dark Greeks—gave a sudden lift to my spirits.

‘Paul.' Her face lit in a smile as she leapt like a cat from boat to quay. ‘We saw you sailing in. From beyond Tiglia. I thought it was
Coromandel.
So we started straight back.' She was laughing, her face flushed, the words coming in a rush.

We talked for a moment, nothing in particular, talking for the sound of our voices, the sense of communication. The outboard coughed and died and the world broke in with Pappadimas tying the painter to a ring on the quay. ‘Two days ago I had a cable.' She felt in the pocket of her anorak. ‘From Dr Gilmore. I don't understand it.' She fished it out and handed it to me.

Urgent Vandervoort understands damage inflicted Holroyd's reputation. My letter Paul explains. Tell him on arrival possibility Holroyd returning Meganisi. Gilmore.
It was dated June 14.

‘Do you know what it means?'

‘No,' I said.

‘But the letter—he says he wrote to you.'

‘I was expecting a letter from him at Samos.' And I told her about the investigation. ‘Have you shown this cable to my father?'

‘Yes. That's why I went out there with Cristos this afternoon.'

‘And what did he say?'

‘Nothing. Just read it and handed it back to me. He didn't say a word.'

‘Did he know what it was about?'

‘I don't know. Yes, I think so. He must have done or he would have asked me about it. Instead, he just smiled.'

But I was wondering about the letter, what it had contained. ‘You're staying with Zavelas?'

‘Yes. I was at Vatahori till your father moved over to Levkas. Then I came here.'

‘Zavelas knows something. I saw it as soon as he greeted us.'

‘About Dr Van der Voort?'

‘I don't know. Something. You don't know what it is?'

‘No.'

‘And you've no idea what this cable is about?'

‘No. Except that Hans is puzzled. So is Alec. It's almost a month since Professor Holroyd left and they've been working on that dig all the time. They've found nothing. Nothing at all since they dug up those skulls. It's very odd.'

But I was still wondering what had happened to Gilmore's letter, how I could get hold of the facts with the least possible delay. Something must have come out at the investigation, something more than just a failure to give credit to another anthropologist for his earlier work on the site. I glanced at my watch. It was already well past six. ‘If we took the boat now, how long would it take to get there—half an hour?'